


Sheeple

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [190]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Sherlock's a poet, author couldn't resist this word, bit o the lithp, cracky sick fic, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sheeple: noun: SHē pəl: people compared to sheep in being docile, foolish, or easily led.</p>
<p>1940s, blend of sheep and people; English</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sheeple

"Greg?! What the fuck happened this time?"

Lestrade rubbed his face, and smirked, "He's fine, but there was a new doc on tonight, and he wasn't aware..."

"Fuckkkk...didn't the arse look at his chart? It has a big RED notation on it, in RED, not to give him heavy doses of opioids...damn. Where is- oh hell." John pinched his nose as Sherlock was doing wheelies down the hallway, luckily it was a slow night at the A & E for once.

John looked at Lestrade. "Broken ankle, concussion, abrasions."

"Can I take him home?"

"Yep, Myc has made arrangements, the staff knows you can deal with the concussion and the ankle. You just have to sign him out, and he's all yers."

"Lucky me," John sighed. He had been almost home from a long shift when he noticed five text messages from earlier that day that he had missed.

John - brilliant case, looks to be at least a 7 - SH

Johnnn?? - SH

I'm at a warehouse, the 7 just turned ugly - SH

Where are you? - SH

Luv you - SH

John swore and had called Lestrade, who as usual had to locate the idiot from the GPS on Sherlock's phone, for a 7, these guys were rank amateurs. Sherlock had managed to knock out and cuff the suspect before he was thrown into a concrete wall by an unseen accomplice, and he fell unconscious himself. He woke up halfway to the A & E, mumbling about morons, chocolate biscuits and bubble baths.

"Did I git him, Graham?"

"Yes, you idiot. Where is John?"

"Dunno...at werk meybe."

 

"Hey love, they say I can take you home." John knelt in front of the detective who was feeling no pain. 

"Johhhhnnnnn....sheeple people...maaaah...baaahhhh...oh, this is gonna suck tomorrow, innit? Lestrade tried to tell them..they didn't listen...Where were youuuuuuuu?"

"Work, love. I'm sorry I missed your texts. Next time wait for back up, yeah? And yeah, it will suck tomorrow, but I'm taking the next few weeks off, 'Kay?"

"I'm so tired, Johhnnn."

"I know, love, Mycroft has sent a car, we're goin' home."

Somehow John managed to get the dopey detective in and out of the car, and only somewhat awkwardly carried him up the stairs to their flat. 

"Couch, love?"

"Mmmm...sit with meeee?"

"Of course." John got him out of his coat and scarf and clothes, with an unfortunately well-practiced ease; and got him into his well-loved, age-softened pajamas. He maneuvered Sherlock to the couch, his head in John's lap, his ankle elevated. Sherlock sighed softly and looked up at John.

"Tthhhorry. I shulda waited."

"Yeah, ya idiot, you should have, but now you're safe at home with me, hmm?"

"Luv you...won't happen aga-" and he was out cold.

"Yeah, right, love...I love you too." john found the remote and settled in for reruns of the ninth Doctor, his fingers gently nestled in Sherlock's hair.


End file.
